


At This Late Hour

by lilacsigil



Category: Once and Future King Series - T. H. White
Genre: Camelot, Multi, The Sword in the Stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: It must have cost Gareth much to go against his brothers and try to warn Lancelot, and even more to go to his old tormentor and beg for help. Tonight, the fate of Camelot rests on Kay's shoulders.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [undomielregina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/undomielregina/gifts).



> Huge thanks to raspberry hunter for the beta.

"The hour is late, Beaumains." Sir Kay had not yet been asleep, but scratching away on a scrap of old parchment, calculating payment for spices that had recently arrived from the East. Some of them were more expensive than gold, but a king could not stint on hospitality, as much as Arthur himself preferred plainer fare. 

Gareth of Orkney stood at his door, twisting his hands together in an agony of indecision. "Sir Kay…you know how it is to have a brother who will not listen? Who will take his own path no matter your warnings?"

"My foster brother is the King, so his path is the one we must all take," Kay snapped, as he stepped back to let Gareth enter his chambers. 

Gareth's brothers included the hot-headed Gawain, but, far more dangerous, the venomous Mordred and vicious Agravaine. It was not that Kay had ever been successful in thwarting them in the past, but failure had never stopped him chasing a grudge before. God only knew why Gareth would come to him, of all the knights in the castle. 

Kay poked up the fire and Gareth collapsed into a leather chair beside it. It was Kay's particular favourite chair, but he decided to save that complaint for later: Gareth looked to be on the verge of tears. While the Orkney brothers were an emotional lot, Gareth was not known to cry, even when he had been in disguise as Beaumains the pretty kitchen boy, butt of all Kay's jokes. 

"My brothers, Agravaine and Mordred, have taken against Sir Lancelot," Gareth said, eventually, "And they have involved the King."

Kay shook his head. "They have always been against Sir Lancelot, but the King will have none of it."

"They appealed to his sense of Justice." The way Gareth said the word sounded like Arthur himself. The Wart had always been devoted to the idea, even when he was too small and insignificant to do more than save stranded earthworms. 

Kay took the other seat, for now he was concerned. "The King is away at the hunting lodge tonight. What do your brothers have planned?" 

"Sir Lancelot won't listen to me, and –" Gareth dropped his voice, "he is going to the Queen."

Kay understood immediately. Foolish Wart, always insisting on exactly the same treatment for everybody. Gareth's brothers were going to use his good intentions to destroy him, along with their enemy. 

"And even the Queen," Kay said out loud, wondering at their daring. 

"They will destroy everything, everything. In their bitterness, they don't care!" Gareth buried his face in his strong hands for a moment, then looked at Kay directly. "But you, you always cared more about function than fairness. Why did the King leave you in charge of all the commoners of Camelot when he knew how you treat those below you?"

Kay shrugged. "Because, Beaumains, someone still needs to tend the spit and someone needs to empty the chamber pots, and no amount of Justice will change that. Arthur might be the noble swan gliding across the water, but someone has to be the legs paddling through the water underneath."

"You see now why I came to you. The King's devotion to fairness means that he has left his Queen and his best friend exposed. I am sure my brothers will spring their trap tonight, and then there will be nothing for the King to do but follow his own laws. The King cannot see past his Justice, and my brothers cannot see past their vengeance, but you, you only want efficiency. Stability."

Creaking his old bones out of the chair, Kay nodded sharply. "Go downstairs, summon Sir Bedivere from the armoury. Tell him to bring a strong rope, at least forty feet in length." 

Relieved to have orders to follow, like any knight, Gareth leaped up and dashed for the door, hesitating for a moment to ask, "You can trust Sir Bedivere? He's very young, and Mordred has so many of the younger men in the bag."

"Sir Bedivere is a Welshman, and too contrary to be in anyone's bag. You may tell him that if you wish," Kay added, at Gareth's headshake. 

"I suppose that's a compliment, coming from you," Gareth replied, and hurried away. The more Gareth had said, the more plausible the plot had sounded.

The Wart would never want to harm his friends, but he had a terrible weak spot for Mordred. It was the magician Merlyn who had neglected to warn Arthur about his black-hearted half-sisters, and the eldest had promptly seduced the new King. Merlyn had muttered about witchcraft but Arthur, innocent of women, had been weak for a pretty face and a courtly manner, and Morgause had both when she so chose. That was not the worst of it: Merlyn had gone on and on about the destruction the impending child would cause, and terrorised the impressionable young king as thoroughly as Morgause had. Their eventual plan – their ridiculous plan – was to send all the baby boys of the right age off on a boat into the stormy ocean. There would be no blood on their hands, and nobody would know Mordred had been singled out, nor would Morgause be able to hide him. Kay and his father, Sir Ector, had argued against it. Kay had even offered to kill Mordred himself, much as he didn't want to murder a child. As always, Merlyn's advice had trumped everyone else's. He was a wizard, after all, and how could Arthur not respect his old teacher? Of course Mordred survived, and could even be confirmed as the right baby due to his twisted shoulder, because that's how destiny works, it seems. By the time Arthur had learned this, Merlyn had vanished to wherever magicians go when they make horrendous mistakes and don't want to account for them, and Arthur was left to bear the burden alone. He even pushed away Kay, who had, after all, sensibly advised him not to follow Merlyn's plan. 

Kay was not one to let his foster brother be led around by his good intentions like a docile bull by its ring, a great beast not realising it was more powerful than the little men pulling it hither and thither. It must have cost Gareth much to go against his brothers and try to warn Lancelot, and even more to go to his old tormentor and beg for help. 

Kay dressed himself quickly by the light of his single frugal candle, without calling the page, and donned the sturdy boots that he wore inspecting cattle in the sales pens rather than the fine leather he usually wore as Seneschal. Once his creaky joints had co-operated with all the bending and twisting involved, Gareth and Bedivere were at his door. 

"What took you so long?" Kay snapped, but both men were used to his sharp tongue and paid no heed. 

"Sir Kay, I have the rope." Bedivere had it coiled over his shoulder. "I stand ready to aid you." 

"Good." Kay's praise was rare, and Bedivere ducked his head. Only twenty-one, he was like the knights of Kay's own youth, when they were not yet cleaving to factions and fancies, but holding their own integrity highest; an easy memory to carry for an old man who had been on the winning side. "Do you wish to earn the eternal enmity of the Orkney family? If we don't have it already." That winning side, he would do well to recall, had not included Gawaine's father. 

Bedivere cast a startled glance at Gareth, but Gareth was staring at a suddenly very interesting crack in the stone floor. 

"I trust that the welfare of the King and Camelot takes pre-eminence?" Bedivere tried to make a statement rather than a question, but his voice involuntarily lifted at the end. 

"That's why I called you rather than Bors or Lionel. They would be glad to oppose Agravaine and Mordred, regardless of the importance of the situation. With any luck, this will be all over before anyone needs to take sides." Kay looked over at Gareth. "Go back to your quarters, Gareth. If your brothers suspect you, they will have no mercy."

"I would that I had done more." His soft voice cracked and he turned and fled. 

As soon as he had gone, Kay pulled Bedivere close. "His foolish brothers plan to catch Sir Lancelot in the Queen's quarters."

Bedivere's eyes opened wide. "Sir Lancelot will kill them all! And Gawaine will never let that stand."

"Or he won't kill them all, and Lancelot will be killed and the Queen burned. Either choice is the end of the Fellowship."

"I may be the newest of knights, but my mother and grandmother told me what it was like in the days before Arthur."

"I met Uther Pendragon once, when I was a boy," Kay told him. "He must have been checking on his hidden son, but we didn't know that then. A brute of a man. He killed two of my father's guardsmen on the road simply for not greeting him with sufficient respect. He paid my father in gold, of course, but it didn't make them any less dead." He sighed. "One of the men, Will, had taught me and Wart to fish in the moat. It was all a long time ago."

Bedivere blinked at the irreverent reference to the King, but wisely said nothing. "My lord, you have a plan?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Here, empty that chest by the window, and put the rope in it. Good man. Bring it with you as we walk."

The few who were about as the summer evening turned into night were used to Kay's comings and goings, and Bedivere beside him. The residents of the castle went about their own business, slowly putting out the rushlights and candles and turning in to bed. The two knights looked from the wall-walk where they stood down into the open courtyard below. Even now there were a few last stragglers heading to bed in the warm early summer night, but by day it was full of life. And it was where the Queen would be burned at the stake for high treason, should Agravaine and Mordred succeed in their plan. Kay had always been fond of Guenever, despite their frequent quarrels, but in this he could only think of Arthur, who would have to watch his justice being done. 

"If they are to take the Queen's chamber, why are we on the wrong side of the courtyard?" Bedivere asked, frowning.

"The Queen's chambers are in the drum tower, and there is no way to reach the outside from below." Kay pointed at the corbels that supported her tower, sticking out into the courtyard. Not even the nimblest of children could have climbed past the overhang and up to the window. "But at the Easter Sunday procession last year, I saw a kitchen boy sitting on the tiles at the top of the drum tower, soaking bits of bread in water to make nasty little pellets he was flicking at the ladies' hats."

Bedivere laughed at that. "And what, pray tell, did you do to this kitchen boy? I doubt he found himself knighted as Gareth did."

"No, no. He couldn't remain in the castle, of course, but I made sure he had an apprenticeship."

"Really? You, the scourge of kitchen boys, paid for him to be apprenticed?"

"I did." Kay smirked. "And I apprenticed him to a baker, so he'll have all the wet dough his heart desires. Seven years treading a bread trough should help him mind his manners."

Bedivere shook his head and looked across at the Queen's tower. "So we are to be that kitchen boy?"

"You are. I'm far too old for this. When I shouted at the lad, he climbed down from the tower, then across the roof of the wall-walk and dropped down here." 

The Spanish-style roof was a fashion twenty years out of date, the idea brought back from some Continental foray. The tiled roof was open at the sides to allow a view into the courtyard but did not quite cover one inner corner. At that one weak spot it was easy enough for Bedivere to stand on the stone edge of the wall-walk and clamber up to the roof, the rope now over his shoulder rather than hidden away in the chest. Kay waved him on, and he walked easily across the tiled roof and over to the Queen's tower. He was at least twenty-five feet above the Queen's window, and the edge of the roof overhung the sides of the round tower so that nobody would be able to climb up. 

Bedivere, a man best suited to the field rather than sneaking about, finally noticed the narrow crenellations at the very top of the tower and understood the purpose of the long rope he had been carrying around. Before becoming the Queen's chambers, this drum tower had been a lookout point. Nobody needed to watch for attacks from without these days, and the path that led to the top had long since been built over to improve the symmetrical beauty of the castle to those approaching from the north. In Arthur's long peace, there had been time to think of such things. 

He looped the rope and lifted it over a crenellation, then pulled it firm. He mimed dropping the rope down, but Kay shook his head, cautioning him to wait until Agravaine and Mordred made their move. If Lancelot hadn't heeded Gareth, he would not now heed Kay and Bedivere, of all the knights of Camelot.

There wasn't long to stay poised on the rooftop, fearing detection. The clatter of armour was dulled by the thick stone walls and the shouting carried, distorted, into the courtyard on the light summer breeze. It was impossible to hear what the men – and there were certainly more than just the two Orkney brothers – were saying, but the naked rage and lust for blood were unmistakable in their bellowing. 

Bedivere dropped the loose end of the rope, swinging it out over the edge of the roof so that it swung back again to tap on the window, once, twice and thrice before it stilled. The shouting and clanking continued and Kay caught himself holding his breath, hoping that the Queen or Sir Lancelot had heard the knock at their window. The attackers on the stairs had started to beat their swords on their shields. It was a dreadful noise meant to intimidate the enemy, hardly the sound of a lawful arrest. Kay signalled to Bedivere to swing the rope outwards, and he let it tap against the window, thrice again. If they were very fortunate, the regular pattern would alert the besieged pair to the hope of rescue. 

This time, the thick curtain pulled back slightly and Sir Lancelot's gnarled face appeared, cautiously searching for yet more threats. He spotted Kay across the courtyard and Kay gestured frantically to open the window, to climb the rope. He felt like a fool, trying to enact a rescue with nothing more than a length of rope and ridiculous capering, but then, who would have backed a young Arthur against the eleven rebel kings at the very beginning of his reign? Kay had not let himself fear then, and he would not now, although at his age he should know better. Lancelot drew away, but he did not close the curtain, and Kay waited. People all over Camelot were being awakened by the noise, and the faint glow of candles was appearing in window after window. None, as a matter of precedence, overlooked the upper part of the Queen's tower, but surely soon guards would come to investigate, or knights run out into the courtyard, and they would all be seen and this would be for naught. Kay could see Bedivere had come to the same realisation and the young knight swung the rope again. One, two, three. 

Lancelot finally threw open the window and leapt from the stone sill to the rope, climbing up it as easily as he would swim a river. Bedivere helped pull him up over the edge of the roof and they quickly detached the rope and began their descent down to the wall-walk. Kay saw the Queen for just a moment, her face stark white against the deep red of the curtains, as she shut the window and flicked the curtain closed without a second glance after Sir Lancelot. She had chosen to send Lancelot away and face the armed men alone, always brave in the worst of circumstances: Guenever knew well that Agravaine had killed his own mother naked in her lover's bed, and yet she chose to confront him in order to save Arthur and the court. The shouting and beating of shields immediately died down, and Kay felt a deep dread in his heart. 

Lancelot – in nothing but a dressing gown and soft indoor slippers – climbed down beside Kay, followed by Bedivere with the rope.

"Why did you go to her?" Kay hissed. "Gareth warned you!"

"I must summon the guard," Lancelot replied, his mind obviously not on Kay. "Agravaine is there with the Queen, and Mordred to spur him on!"

Bedivere caught the man's shoulder and Kay grabbed his arm, though he could have easily shaken both of them off and thrown them over the wall to boot. 

"Listen. You must go to your quarters and stay there until somebody comes for you or you hear the horns sound. Otherwise the Queen's bravery is for naught. Go, hurry!" 

With a last horrified glance at the closed curtains across the way, Lancelot nodded and ran, making a tremendous pace back into the castle proper. Kay had no idea how the white-haired old knight still managed this – Kay could do no better than a swift hobble himself – but what God had not granted the man in beauty he had apparently made up in strength. 

"Come, Bedivere, we must also be in our places." Kay held out the chest they had used to smuggle the rope, and Bedivere placed the rope back inside. Knights and the braver of the ladies were venturing out now, hastily dressed, to see what was happening, but Kay and Bedivere, unarmed, aroused no suspicion. As Kay neared his quarters, a phalanx of guardsmen dashed past, Sir Belleus half-armoured right behind them, sword drawn. Kay was thankful that the level-headed Belleus was in charge tonight rather than one of Lancelot's cousins who might only make things worse. Closing his chamber door firmly, after a brief pause to catch his breath, Kay prayed a silent plea for intercession on the Queen's behalf. She had sent away her only protection to try to save herself, her husband, her lover and the kingdom itself, and Kay prayed that it would not take her spilled blood to thwart Agravaine and Mordred's wretched scheme once and for all. 

 

"Kay, my brother," the King said, startling Kay terribly. 

"Would you mind not sneaking up on me when I'm counting? Now I have to start again. In fact, since you're here, you can help." Kay gestured to the bottles of wine they had received as tribute from the Duke of Brittany. 

"My apologies. I didn't realise anything could distract you from a fine wine." 

Kay snorted, and the foster brothers set to counting the bottles, checking the seals as they went. Arthur found two that had cracked, but Kay deemed the damage the result of transit rather than deliberate insult. 

"So, Wart, what do you want with me? Come sit, and we can try this wine ourselves." Kay poured two good draughts into the old clay cups that the official taster used before bringing wine to the table and they sat at the small table by the beer kegs.

"It's been a long time since you called me that."

"It's been a long time since we were alone. Or don't you remember how you made me swear on my life never to call you Wart in front of anybody?"

"I tried to have you swear you would never call me Wart ever, but you refused to go that far." Arthur drank his wine. "This is very good."

Kay put a hand over his heart. "I was swearing on my life! That's serious business."

"Of course it is. And I hear I have you to thank for Lance's life, and perhaps Guenever's."

"You have Gareth of Orkney to thank, but you must not let that get around. He's very torn over the whole thing – you know how loyal he is."

"Yes, he would not hear a word against you after he was knighted, and I know you were not kind. To go against his brothers must be heart-rending for him. So it was he who warned you?"

"And now his brothers and their friends are in the Keep. Not what he wanted at all. He's equally loyal to you, Wart. This is the boy that wanted to be a knight, your knight, so badly he volunteered to scrape the dripping pan."

"Gareth will not break. His heart is true and did not lead him wrong, despite my own weakness."

Kay shrugged. He'd heard this story before. "That brat Mordred made a trap of your own laws and your affection. You wouldn't have put up with such a suggestion from anyone else."

Arthur puffed up like an owl. "The laws are for everyone!"

"Insulting the Queen isn't. He knows he's got you coming and going, and you're too guilty to do a thing about it."

"I won't hear this from you!" Arthur was standing now, and Kay got up, too. Arthur was taller, something to which Kay had never quite become accustomed.

"If you didn't want to hear it, you wouldn't have come to me!"

Arthur stood for a moment longer, then sat down just as quickly. "I can't argue with that, can I? Pour me another cup of this wine."

Kay did, and grabbed a handful of straw from the boxes of wine. He started knotting a piece of straw into a triangle, going around and around. "Remember when we used to make these? We would float them down the river and throw them down the stairs."

"Yours always went further than mine." Arthur's fingers still remembered the old pattern, and he started folding a stalk himself. 

"That's because mine are balanced." Kay finished the third knot and trimmed off the end of the straw with his knife. "You always want to use the whole piece of straw, even if it won't go around the whole three sides again."

Arthur, who was doing exactly that, sighed and tucked the end in. "It looks better this way."

"But you can't throw it all the way from the upper balcony of the hall to land among the dogs and set them to yapping, can you?" Kay bounced his straw triangle off the table and into his foster brother's beard. 

"No, I never quite learned that trick." He turned Kay's straw triangle over and over, and Kay watched him closely. 

After another drink of wine, Arthur put the little triangle on the table in front of them. "After all these years you finally tell me why my triangles never flew as well as yours!"

"There's no competition between us now, is there? The triangles have to be even on each side. If one corner knot is heavier than the others, they won't fly well." Kay picked up the uneven triangle Arthur had made and flicked it at him. It arced downwards and hit the table instead.

"You say to love as both a man and a king is too much, but what other choice is there?" Arthur said suddenly, picking up his lopsided straw creation. 

Kay spoke very gently, for once. "You have been a king since you were a child, but your choices as a man haunt you, never more than now. You try to be kind to everyone you love, and fair in the abstract, too, but none of us are perfect. Well, maybe Galahad, but I never liked him. I knew you would not want Lancelot or the Queen dead, no matter how just it might be. But nor do you want Mordred slain, for all that it would be better for the King."

Arthur's eyes sparked at that. "That was wrong, unutterably wrong. I acted out of fear –"

"Are you afraid now?" Kay gave him back the balanced triangle, too.

"No." His face was calm, now. "No, I'm not afraid. Thank you, brother."

"You can come help me count tributes whenever you wish. It's soothing to the mind and good for the spirit, as well as the treasury."

Arthur drained his cup and stood up, kingly again. "When the spirits are as good as this, I certainly will." 

 

The day of Agravaine and Mordred's judgement was a beautiful one; the skies clear and a light breeze keeping the sun's heat at bay. Kay was gloomy, though, expecting civil war at any moment. 

"As long as the King doesn't execute them," Bedivere said. He'd had the squires run ragged making sure the armoury was in particularly good condition just in case. 

"Whatever the King does is going to offend somebody. Sometimes I wish we still had wars to keep us all united." 

Kay, despite his sharp tongue, was not cruel enough to truly wish for war, but the constant bickering and threats of the court irritated him beyond measure. His thoughts constantly strayed to the old castle by the Forest Sauvage, where his wife, son and grandchildren now lived. His daughter had married a Welshman – a cousin of Bedivere's, in fact – and by all reports, she managed the castle and estates with a firm and economical hand. Kay was prouder of this than if she had married a king. 

Possibly due to the sheer number of people attending, Arthur had decided to pass judgement out in the courtyard, rather than in the tapestry-hung Justice Room, which was rather stuffy in summer. The Queen was not often present unless the judgement involved a woman, or she wished to enter a plea for mercy on behalf of a petitioner, but she was seated beside Arthur on the dais today, dressed in full state. She sat straight-backed despite the weight of her crown and the jewels on her robe, and her heavily be-ringed hands sat perfectly still on the arms of the throne as if she was a statue and not a living person at all. The only hint of movement was the light silk scarf around her neck, the ends fluttering in the breeze. Arthur himself was dressed plainly as usual, with his sword at his side and his crown in place. Unlike the Queen, he was looking around at the great crowd with interest and occasionally waving to a small child. Kay had tried his best to winkle some hint of the verdict out of Arthur, if only to prepare the castle appropriately. Arthur had not bent in the slightest, meaning that Camelot had to both prepare a feast for all the visitors and at the same time prepare the stores for war. Kay was in a very cranky mood indeed, and quite ready to see both the conspirators have their heads lopped off. 

Sir Belleus and other knights of the castle guard dragged Agravaine from the cells, along an aisle held clear only by the efforts of the rest of the guard, and dropped him at the foot of the King and Queen's dais. One would have thought the man would benefit from a few days away from his cups, but he looked dreadfully ill, barely able to stand and certainly unable to eat. Maybe Arthur would take pity on the miserable knight. Kay hoped not. Mordred needed no such handling, and walked of his own accord between his guards to kneel – far too briefly for propriety – before the King. He pulled his brother up to stand beside him; both men were dressed in pure white, some cheek, considering that they were on trial for treason. Their brothers were in the crowd, not far from the King. Gaheris looked alarmed, but given that he was trying to support both the sobbing, red-faced Gawain and stricken Gareth, so well he might. Sir Belleus and Sir Bedivere were not fools, so although the distance was not great, there was a row of armoured knights between the hot-headed Orkney brothers and the King. Lancelot and his cousin Bors, still deadly when unarmed, remained close to hand. Arthur had a fine balancing act to perform today, and everybody knew it.

"Sir Agravaine of Orkney. Sir Mordred of Orkney. You are both charged with treason, in the case of insult to the person of the Queen, insult to the Crown, trespass on both the property and person of the Queen, and actual bodily harm to the person of the Queen."

The crowd gasped at that, and the Queen pulled the silk scarf from her neck. Plain against her pale skin was the red line of a wound, as if a blade had been held to her neck and pressed a little too hard. Without the fluttering of the scarf, she was a statue complete. Lancelot turned his face away in shame, and Kay felt the wash of that shame himself for leaving the Queen, by her own choice or not, to face Agravaine alone. And yet it was the best of possible outcomes on that terrible night. 

Arthur continued, his voice projected strongly to the crowd. "These charges are proven by your own admissions, and by the evidence of the Queen herself. The knights who accompanied you on this wretched attack have been sent away from court. They face no further punishment as you have yourselves admitted that you were the instigators and commanders of this insult to the Queen and the Crown, and they were merely following you, unaware of your base motives."

"Thank you for sparing them, Uncle," Mordred said, his voice as smooth and pleasant as ever. Startling, from a man who had lost much of his base of power and might be about to lose his life. 

Arthur ignored him and carried on. "Nonetheless, these are serious charges and cannot be ignored. The penalty under the law for treason is burning at the stake; the penalty for harming the queen's person is hanging. In the old days it would have been trial by combat, but you have spoken to me at length of your respect for my new laws and your intent to live by them." 

Mordred nodded politely, as if they were discussing the laws in abstract over dinner. Agravaine wobbled on his feet, lost in the depths of his own pickled brain. 

"The Queen, however, has asked for mercy, as has your brother, my dear nephew Sir Gawain."

Anyone who caught the Queen's tigerish gaze would know for certain that she had asked for no such thing, but the King was ever politically minded and the Queen did not seem surprised to have her mercy invoked. 

"An it please you, my laird!" Gawain called from his position in the courtyard, his accent thicker than usual through his tears.

"My nephews, you are sentenced to banishment, never to return to this land. You must hereby go from this place to Dover, within a fortnight plus one day: ungirt, unshod, bareheaded, in your bare shirts as if you were hanged on a gallows."

The crowd rumbled at this, but Gawain and Gareth leaned ever harder on poor Gaheris, their legs weakened in sheer relief. Kay made a face: they'd walk to Dover all right, barring strange mishap, then their brothers would just sail them back up to Orkney, off the mainland and in accordance with the King's ruling. He'd sentenced them to go home. Still, Kay wouldn't miss either of them.

Arthur stepped down from his dais, and reached under his cloak to retrieve a pair of plain wooden crosses, long since worn smooth by penitent hands. Kay remembered them from a chapel long ago, where Arthur had first been made King. They'd been in the King's chamber ever since. He wondered if Mordred knew that. Arthur gave one to each man.

"You must hold this crucifix fast, and if it is released, but for a minute, any man may attempt to carry out the sentence of death." 

"We thank you for your kindness and mercy, Uncle," Mordred said, with that polished politeness that somehow came off as rude. Arthur, for once, showed no reaction to his son's prodding. 

"We'll be by your side, fear ye naught!" Gawain called. 

The guards stepped forward to take the alleged penitents away, but the King stopped them with a gesture. 

"No, I wish these two to behold my next judgement. Leave them be."

Mordred's sharp glance at the King was like a fox eyeing the chickens even though he knew the fence was strong.

"Sir Lancelot, if you please," the King said, and Lancelot and a few others disappeared back into the castle. The Queen gave up imitating a statue and clasped her hands in concern, her eyes on her husband.

"Lords and Ladies, it has been a great long time that I have ruled over you. Together, we have brought this kingdom from constant warfare to constant peace. And yet you all seem so young, here: do many of you remember how I was first crowned?"

A murmur went through the crowd, some calling out, "Yes!" or "We do, your majesty!" Kay remembered that day well: what he most remembered was being utterly sure he had strapped on his sword, and yet it had been left behind at the inn. For that, he blamed Merlyn, and not unfairly, he was convinced. Merlyn had loved making random events into a coherent story and claiming he had known all along. That was something Kay missed from that part of his childhood, the feeling that everything would work out for the best. Even fighting the eleven kings of the North, with Merlyn there it had all seemed like a tale of adventure. Or maybe that's how all the young people had felt; Kay couldn't tell anymore. Either way, it was Mordred's existence that had changed everything, and Kay certainly blamed Merlyn for that. 

Arthur was continuing his story, with Mordred's eyes fixed brightly on his every move. "And it said, 'Whoso Pulleth Out This Sword of this Stone and Anvil, is Right-wise King Born of All England.' Well, so I did, and here I am. Though I tried to give it to my foster brother, first."

The crowd laughed at that, and Kay shook his head as one of the cooks clapped him on the back. He had taken up that sword for a bare minute, but he could not say how glad he was that that destiny had not fallen upon him. He would not have wished it on the Wart either. 

"And here, the very stone and anvil." 

Lancelot led in a team of horses pulling behind them a travois with the stone and anvil, as promised. The stone had a small polished dent at the front where thousands of people had touched it for luck over the years. The anvil bore no sign of rust, despite the decades out in the weather. With help from the other knights beside him, Lancelot slid the stone from the travois and it settled onto the courtyard with a sound like a mighty stone gate slamming shut. The crowd went silent as Arthur walked slowly down the cleared aisle between the guards, away from the throne and towards the great stone and anvil. 

Guenever suddenly slipped down from her throne and ran after him. He turned, surprised, and she shyly put her hand over his, a faint blush on her cheeks. The crowd stayed stock-still. 

The King drew his sword. "This is Excalibur, the sword of the King of the Britons. And whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is right-wise King born of all England." He plunged it back into the anvil and down into the stone. Part of the blade remained exposed and gleamed in the sun, forcing everyone but Arthur and Guenever to cover their eyes; the King and Queen stood unbowed in the radiance. 

A page who was close by, standing on a handy barrel so that he could see over the heads of the adults, called out. "The words have appeared on the blade! Whoso pulleth out this sword –" The crowd took up the words, which Kay could certainly not read at such a distance, and ended "of all England" with a mighty cheer. Kay didn't feel so cheery, and that was because he knew perfectly well who Arthur's son was: the man he had just now exiled. If only he had begun the exile before the pageantry with the stone! Now that the glow had faded, he could see that Lancelot looked as troubled as Kay felt. Both of them understood the depths of Arthur's intense desire for justice. 

Wasting not a moment, Mordred took a step towards the King, to be immediately surrounded by guardsmen with spears. 

"No," Arthur said, "Let him approach. But do not release that crucifix, Mordred, as you have been warned."

"As I have been warned? You wish now to keep me safe?" 

Far behind him, Agravaine was sitting at the base of the dais, gratefully drinking a cup of wine that Gaheris had slipped to him past the guards. He paid not the slightest bit of attention to Mordred's current grandstanding. Did he even care about his brother's part of the feud, or was it the Queen and Lancelot he had been hunting all along? 

Mordred had now reached the stone and anvil. "Let me try, before I am banished. I may be a weak man, but you were only a squire when you succeeded in this action."

"Indeed I was." Arthur seemed entirely calm, though Guenever was clutching his arm tightly. She whispered something in Arthur's ear, but he merely shook his head. 

Mordred held his protective cross in his weaker right hand, and placed his left on the sword. The crowd muttered and swayed, all the rumours about Mordred's birth – many of which had been put about by Mordred, of course – suddenly out in the daylight. He pulled firmly, expecting a smooth movement from the anvil, and was thrown quite off balance when it didn't move in the slightest. He dragged at the sword harder and harder, his face turning as red as his brother Gawain's, but Excalibur did not move. Kay let out a long sigh, and he was not alone.

"Damn you!" Mordred spat, and Gawain clapped him on the good shoulder. 

"Come, Mordred, 'tis not for ye."

"You must start your journey," Gareth added, "Or you will not be far from here by nightfall. But do not fear, we will ride with you."

"No! This is mine! This is my destiny!"

Arthur gently removed Mordred's hand from the hilt of Excalibur. "Destiny is a strange thing, dear one, and not for you to decide. May your brothers guard you well as you leave my realm."

Mordred looked like he was about to attack his father bodily, in front of the entire court, but Guenever still had hold of Arthur and drew him back behind her. Instead of a kind old man, Mordred was now facing the utter contempt and wrath of a Queen. His life under another Queen, Morgause, meant that he could only turn away, disgusted and afraid. 

Arthur's challenge proved fruitful: instead of Lancelot's followers chasing Mordred and Agravaine down the road to Dover, threatening violent clashes with the Orkney men and their faction, everyone stayed at the castle to attempt to pull the sword from the stone. Most of the court, with the few exceptions of ennobled commoners and those from far distant lands such as Sir Palomides, could trace at least some ancestry in common with the King, at least enough that nobody felt ridiculous for trying. The young squires and pages remembered that Arthur himself had been but fifteen years old when he achieved the feat, and they tried too. In the afternoon Lynette, the King's Damosel, put her hand to Excalibur, putting all her strength into her attempt. She had no luck but this encouraged the other ladies to try it themselves, even the little kitchen maids who should have been helping the cooks with tonight's dinner. Kay made sure the refreshments wouldn't run out before then, and went to seek out Arthur.

Arthur himself was nowhere near the festivities, but alone in his Justice Room, not on the throne but at a table, reading in preparation for the next day's work. 

"It's days like today that I remember you were the protégé of a wizard," Kay remarked, taking a seat opposite.

"So were you." Arthur put down the petition he had been reading. 

"How did you get Excalibur back into the stone?"

"Magic," Arthur told him with a tiny smirk. "So I can't tell you the details."

"You're as bad as Merlyn was!" 

"I very much hope so. To be honest, I am enjoying not being the King of England."

Kay was startled. "Wart, you can't abdicate while that sword is still in the stone. Who's in charge?"

"Oh, I'm still in charge. I'm the Regent, now, until some poor child shows up to take that sword. Not a clue who it will be. I'm planning on spending some time at Joyous Gard with Lance and Guenever, won't that be nice? I don't think I've had a holiday since the old days with you and Sir Ector. There were religious holidays, of course, but I had to preside at those, so it was hardly restful. Look, I had the Bishop of Rochester to witness the papers to make this all official, just this morning."

"How did you know it wouldn't be Mordred?" Kay shook his head at Arthur's planning. If he wasn't the King, nobody could call the Queen's affair treason: it was the business of her husband, and only he could condemn her before the law.

Arthur frowned. "When I first began to think about not being the King any longer, I had to dismiss the idea because I thought Mordred must be my successor. He is my son, and while I cannot say he was rightwise-born, neither was I – born a mere six months after my parents wed, which was part of why Merlyn stole me away. And I could draw that sword.

"But then I turned the idea about some more: the inscription on the blade did not say true-born, but rightwise King born. I was certainly born to be the King of England – both my mother and father intended this, though they were not married yet."

"They did?" Kay was dubious. "I thought Uther Pendragon disguised himself as Duke Gorlois."

"To enter Tintagel Castle, yes. And I cannot remember my mother, but there are letters between her and my father, letters that Merlyn kept for me. She had no love for the Duke, to whom she had been married young and unwilling. Uther was an escape for her." He passed his hand over his eyes.

"You have never been cruel to the Queen. She loves you dearly."

Arthur smiled. "She does, at that. No, I was more thinking of the way that my half-sisters must have been raised, fearing their father, protecting their mother, and how this turned them against me so fiercely. Mordred was not born to be the King of England: he was born to destroy both man and country."

"That's a big risk to take based on the interpretation of magic words, Wart."

"Magic words are still words, and must be kept. I checked with the good lady Nimue and she sent me word via a bright green pigeon." He grinned at Kay. "Also, I made sure there was a safeguard." He pushed the declaration of his abdication and regency across the table. "Read this."

Kay read down the parchment. It seemed straightforward enough, the actual written part of the declaration smaller than the massive royal and religious seals attached to it. He read it again, and burst out laughing. "You didn't abdicate until noon! Even if it should have been Mordred, he couldn't pull out the sword because you were still rightwise King born of all England!" 

"The others who tried before noon are present to try again, but Mordred is in exile, and so much the better for him. Perhaps he will grow to love his home again now that his mother is not in it. He needs to be attached to the present, not the past."

"Perhaps," Kay replied. Truthfully, he didn't care how Mordred got on in exile and was privately wishing some very unpleasant and swiftly fatal disease on him. "Now you'll have to live long enough for him to move on to some other plan, or for someone else to take up the sword."

"I hope I do," Arthur said. "I have every intention of living a long, happy retirement now."

Kay stood and embraced him, not as a King and Seneschal, but as brothers who had fought long together and had now found some measure of peace. 

 

Epilogue: Joyous Gard

Despite Arthur's best intentions, it took almost the rest of summer before he finally rode out to join Guenever and Lancelot at Joyous Gard. It was a beautiful castle that had not seen siege in many years, so much built for life rather than death that the stones were covered with plaster containing traces of gold dust, and the castle itself shimmered on approach. There were stained glass windows built piece by piece to cast coloured light into the great hall and the rooms of guests. It was easy to see which had been commissioned by Lancelot and which by Guenever: there were martyred saints on some windows and beautiful scenes of redemption on the others. St Catherine on the wheel was right next to the very same saint crowned and holding out a vial of her healing oil. The roofs above were tiled in various colours, with narrow, pointed turrets. The whole effect was that of a great golden beast at rest, wearing a dozen silly hats. 

The travelling party entered the courtyard to cries of greeting from all and sundry, and Lancelot himself ran out to help Arthur from his horse, quite getting in the way of Gareth, who had dismounted in order to aid the King. 

"And Gwen?" Arthur asked Lancelot, as he slid down. He had travelled unarmoured and unarmed amongst his guard, despite the protests of Kay and Gareth, considering that his life's work had been to make the country safe and, at any rate, his sword was stuck in an anvil back at Camelot. 

"She's nervous, seeing you here. So am I, in truth, but I cope by running about." 

The two old men embraced fondly, with kisses to both cheeks in the French style, and proceeded into the castle, arm in arm. Joyous Gard was almost as bright inside as out, at least in summer, the huge and indefensible windows free of their war-time shutters to allow light to stream inside, prettily coloured by the stained glass here and there. It was much smaller than Camelot, for which Arthur was grateful, as he had spent every day since announcing his abdication surrounded by people from all corners of the continent – and some from further abroad, as the news spread – discussing treaties, tributes and Excalibur in the anvil, and all of them insistent on trying to draw it themselves. Several alleged illegitimate children and grandchildren had shown up, most of whom Arthur was entirely sure were not his, but they were welcomed politely nonetheless, then sent home with gifts when they, too, failed to pull the sword free. It had not been the retirement he had described to Kay, not at all. Finally, in the last days of summer, he'd left Camelot and ridden the two days to Joyous Gard, his heart lighter and lighter at every hoofbeat. 

"Here are your rooms." Lancelot had not let go of his arm, and Arthur had the briefest impression of a beautifully appointed bedchamber bathed in light before he was pulled onwards to the next room. "And Jenny's," he continued, "And mine."

All three wrapped around the same level of one of the towers above the main keep, allowing the sun to track around them all day, from Lancelot's rooms in the morning, to Guenever's throughout the day, and Arthur's in the afternoon. There were no other rooms on this floor at all, and Arthur held his old friend's arm a little more tightly. They had got along for decades never quite speaking of what they were to each other, and he felt that he was wavering between delight and devastation at each step. He shook his head. No, it was Mordred and Agravaine who had forced the issue, not he. 

Suddenly, the middle door flew open and Guenever rushed out to throw her arms around both of them. She had been crying, but she was simply dressed in a deep red dress and her hair was loose as she had worn it as a young bride, now streaked with silver. She was as passionate as ever, her eyes bright with tears. 

"You fools, why are you standing around on the stairs? Come in, come in." She pulled them both into her chambers, as bright and lovely as the ones she had made her home in for so many years at Camelot, yet simpler in design and furnishings. She kissed Arthur at once, then, more shyly, her hair falling down around them, Lancelot. Arthur watched, still holding her hand, feeling again that strange tug in two directions at once: both an intruder and completely at home. There was a large couch near the window, with a velvet seat of a deep forest green, and that was where she led them. It was easily big enough for the three of them together, and, Arthur realised with bemused surprise, built that way on purpose. 

Guenever sat between them, but both of the men rested against her, her arms around them. Her hair smelled like spring, and the worry melted from Arthur's bones in the afternoon sunlight. He and Guenever had not been this close for a long time, because he had felt it unfair to come between her and Lancelot; he and Lancelot had been so close but unable to be as open with each other as they had once been; and of course Gwen and Lance had always had the flicker of fear inside them even as they found comfort in each other. 

"It is lovely to hear you call us fools," Arthur told her, "You know it is true."

"Well, you are my dear fools, and I suppose I am just as foolish myself."

Lancelot laughed, and gently took Arthur's hand in his own; while Arthur's still had the callouses of the sword as well as the pen, Lancelot's was scarred and rough, broken and torn times uncountable. 

Arthur held on tenderly. "Your poor hands, Lance. You have known too much of madness and violence."

"I always come back to you. You and Jenny, but I think I loved you first."

"And now?" Her voice was light and teasing.

"Now I love each of you surpassing well, and so may we live to the end of our days."

"To the end of our days," Arthur echoed, as Guenever held them close on the forest green seat, the late summer sun turning them as golden as they had ever been, the long twilight forgotten as if it would never come. 

One bright far-off morning, the six black-hooded queens would come for Arthur on their funeral barge. They would bear him away to the hidden vale of Avilion to sleep until that far-off day when he returns to Britain in her hour of greatest need. He would not be alone in that sleep, nor in his return.


End file.
